I made it. I’d come back to the lingerie shop. I’d been thinking aboutitfor a coupleofweeks,tellingmyself I couldgothroughwithit,buymyselfpantiesand a bra.If the cashierasked who they werefor, I wouldsay“a girlfriend.” But why would the cashier ask, anyway? Whatbusinesswasitofhers?

Itwas a small shopon a side streetanditlookedlikeithad been therefor a longtime.Itwasnarrowbutwascrammedwithracksofpantiesandbrasandnightiesandshapewearandcamisolesandteddiesandpantyhoseandbodystockings. I haddiscoveredit when taking oneofmylong lonely walks and ever since then, I’d wanted togobackandstartmycollectionofwomen’s lingerie. I’d been thinking about this for a long time and I wanted to take action. I’d movedto this Midwesterncity,farfrommyfamilyand boyhood friends on the East Coast, so that I couldbealonewithmydreamsandobsessionsandfinallygive in anddresstomyheart’scontent. Sowhatwas I waitingfor?

I had a beautifulbraandpanty set in myhand,hangingtogetheron their littlehanger,butmyheartwaspounding so hard I couldn’tgetmyselfto walk the twenty feet or so to the counter. The counter lady waswaitingonanothercustomer so I used thatasan excusetostall.Thestorewasemptyofclienteleexceptforustwocustomers; I didn’thaveanytemporaryofficeworktoday, so I wasabletogoonanoff-hour. I pre-tendedtobrowsesomemore,fingering the softnylonof a brightpinkbabydollnightie,and the lace on the low-cutfrontof a beige chemise.And I kept trying toworkupmycouragetogoto the counter.

Thensuddenly I got the insane idea ofjust walking outwith the braandpanty,stuffing them undermyjacket. I lookedaroundand the storedidn’t seem tohaveanyhi-tech surveillance oreven those electronic doohickeysthat set off a buzzer when you walk outwithunscannedmerchandise.Like I said,itwasanoldstore and so I thought maybe, just maybe…

I knew thatstealinglingeriewasn’t the answertomyproblems,but I wason the vergeoftearsfrom the tensionandhumiliationofimagining the counterladyeven smilingatmesidewaysassherangupmypurchase…

So I movedcloser,only a fewfeetfrom the door,propelledto thievery bymyfearof being exposed forwhat I wanted—exposedto a counterladyas the crossdresserwannabe I was.

“Where do you think you’regoingwiththat?” A firm red-manicuredhand grasped myforearmjustas I wasabouttoopen the doorandexit the store.

I couldn’t even croak out any answer as I looked upinto the face of a gorgeousbutstern-faced,beautifullydressedblondewoman who wasatleastfourinches taller than I was.But who wasshe? I hadnever seen herbefore.

“I saw you via surveillance in my office,” she snapped,pointingto a small shadowy wooden doorthat I hadn’tnoticedbecauseitwasobscuredby a rackoflongyellownightgowns.“Don’tbefooledby the oldschoolcharmof this store.It’scompletelyup-to-date,you little felon. And I’m the owner here.” She didn’t let goofmywrist.

“I’m sorry,” I gasped, “I don’t know what got into me!”Myvoicesoundedtwooctaves higher thanusual.“Ohplease,ma’am,I’msorry,can’twejustforgetit? I wantedto—tobuy these for a girlfriend, but—but—”

“What girlfriend?” the blondeladylaughed.“YOU’RE the girlfriend youhave in mind!Comeon,honey,admitit—youwantedtotake these hometohave a datewithyourself!”

“No,no,no,ma’am!No,no,no!”But I startedtocry.Myyearsofpicturingmyselfas a girl,imaginingmyselfdressinglikeone,and being treatedlikeone,suddenly exploded in veryfemininebehavior in frontof this totalstranger.

“Unbelievable,” said the lady. “There doesn’t seem tobe a vestigeof male left in you. Look atyoublubber,ohdear!”

She still heldmywrist.Sheworecolorfulbanglesonherownwristwhichjangledas I tried tobreakawayfromher.Butsince I couldn’t, I handedover the braandpantyonitslittlevelvethanger,tearsstreamingdownmyface.

“Please don’t call the police,” I whimpered. I looked aroundandsaw the othercustomerstaringatmewith goggle eyesandopenmouth.Thecounterlady,however, seemed to take it all in stride, as if she’d seen something like this before. “I don’t want to go to jail!” I wailedto the blondeladyasshetuggedmetoward the littleoffice.

“You think I can let you get away with this? Impossible!”said the owner.“However,thereis a wayyoucanmakeupforyourcrime.Quitgivingmesuch a hardtime—come with me into my office.” She left me no choice,really—thestrongfingersofherhanddraggedme behind the rackofnightgownsandinto the small room.

Finallylettinggoofmywrist,she closed andlocked the door behind her.Itreallywas a tinyoffice,withpurple walls andlightcomingfrom a greenshadedlampover the desk.Therewas a doorway in the backthat led to shadowy stairs. “Wait,” I said, only sniffing now, “I don’t see any surveillance monitors in here.”

“Whosaidanythingaboutmonitors? I ‘surveilled’youthrough the peephole in the door,missy!”Andwith her vibrantly red-manicured forefinger she pointed tojustsuch a hole.

“I’vecaught a numberofnaughtylittlecrossdressing shoplifters that way,” she said.

“I’mnot a crossdresser!”

“You just want to enjoy some pretty lingerie? That doesn’tmakeyou a crossdresser?Oh,oh I forgot,dearme, you were buying this for a ‘girlfriend.’ Well, unfortunately if youdon’t do EXACTLYas I say, this braandpantyaregoingtobeenteredinto evidence atyour trial andyour‘girlfriend’ will probablynevergettoenjoy them—if you’reconvictedandsentencedtojail,thatis!”

“Here,takethis!” I fumbledforsomecash in mypocket.“I’llpayyoufor them now!Justdon’ttakemeto the cops!”

“Oh, I can understand why you’d be scared of them,” said the blonde lady. “A little pansy like you, so nervousandreadytocryat the dropof a hat,wouldbelost in jail,evenovernight! All those roughtoughprisoners,once they got a look atyou,wouldpulldown those jeansofyoursand fill yourprissyasswith a realman’scock!”

I just stared at the lady, amazed that she could have guessed atoneofmy dirtiest andmostshamefulfantasies: of being put in jailandtreatedlike a girl,forcedtosuck cock andtake cock in my behind overandover.Andforcedtoperformstripteaseshowswhere I dressedlike a showgirl,and then hadto do gangbangswith the prisoners,guards,andwarden!

“Come on, dear heart,” she said, “there’s no thought in your head that I can’timagine.I’ve run this lingerieshopforyears.You think you’re the firstshakytransvestiteI’ve seen? Hardly.In fact, I waitforyou‘girls’tocome in here—theshopliftingones, I mean, the ones I cancapture—because I have a very special interest in helping you ‘ladies’ realize your innermost dreams and desires.”

I slowlydroppedinto a chairnear the wall. In a way I was suddenly relieved. I’d always fantasized about running intosomeonelike this, a woman who knew about the type ofdesires I had, a female who wouldhelpme explore them. I’d grown up in a small, conservative town,whichhadn’t been affectedby all the ideas of sex- ual freedomthatyou see onlineor in the media; no parades in supportofLGBTrights in myhometown!To the peoplethere,guys who wereinterested in anythingotherthan the “normal”wereconsidered“homos,queers, and faggots.” That’s why I’d had to get out once I got my degree at the nearby community college, awayfrom everybody and everything I knew,awayfrommy critical parentsandmymacho friends, toexploremydreamselsewhere. They knew nothingofmyinnerlifeand I didn’tdareshareit!Butevennow,fifteenhundred miles away in a strangecity, I still carried around the shameinsideme,and I called myselfnameswithoutanyhelpfromanybodyelse.When I fantasized being dresseduplike a girl andhaving sex with a guy—notbecause I wasgay,butbecause I wasreally a GIRL!—I gotmostturnedon when I imagined him calling me a “dirtysissycocksucker”ashecrammedmy face withhisdick. I wasafraid I wouldalways carry around the judgmental mind-set andbigoted beliefs of the town I grewupin…and I couldn’tfoolmyself. I wasn’t a girl, I was a guy,and if I wantedtowearpantiesanddressesandheelsandbrasandsuckdick, I justHADtobe a “dirty sissy cocksucker”…right? Right?

“My dear, you look so thoughtful,” said the store owner.“Whereareyourthoughtsgoing?Areyouimaginingwhatit’sgoingtobelikewith Gail?”

“Gail?” I said.

“Yes, Mrs. Gail Durvette—me. Because I give you this choice:tobedressedas the girl youcraveto be, ortobeturnedoverto the police as the shoplifteryou already are.”